The Beauty of Losing the Cassock with Former Don Alberto Ravagnani
This video features a rare and candid conversation between satirical priest Padre Kayn and former Catholic priest Alberto Ravagnani, who recently left the priesthood. They discuss Alberto's journey from devout seminarian to social media influencer priest to his eventual departure from institutional ministry, exploring themes of doubt, institutional critique, celibacy, sexuality, faith evolution, and the courage to pursue authenticity over tradition.
1. An Unexpected Meeting
The episode opens with a striking irony that nobody could have predicted: Alberto Ravagnani, once one of Italy's most prominent young priests and social media influencers, sitting down with Padre Kayn, a satirical character who built his following by critiquing the Catholic Church. As Alberto notes, this podcast is aptly renamed for the occasion from "The Beauty of Losing Faith" to "The Beauty of Losing the Cassock."
The visual symbolism is powerful—Padre Kayn wears the priestly garb while Alberto no longer does. Yet as Kayn points out, this configuration was always the podcast's intention: to explore journeys through doubt and transformation.
Kayn begins by complimenting Alberto on two fronts: first, for his courageous choice, and second, for what he calls "perfect marketing." Whether intentional or not, Alberto's decision to leave the priesthood has sparked conversations everywhere, making him a figure of fascination across the Italian media landscape.
"Nobody would have ever said it, nobody would have ever expected to see Alberto Ravagnani as a guest of Padre Kayn, and yet here you are."
Alberto admits he wouldn't have come in the past. His journey to this moment involved a fundamental shift in perspective—one that began with stepping outside the bubble he'd inhabited for years.
2. Breaking Out of the Bubble
Kayn opens a sensitive topic by referencing something from Alberto's book: how the priestly attire affected his relationship with people and how he suffered from being associated with the Church's worst scandals, particularly clergy sexual abuse.
Kayn shares his own perspective as a non-believer: he never saw priests as criminals per se, but he did see them as complicit—consciously or unconsciously—in a system that protected perpetrators and maintained omertà (silence) about institutional failures.
Alberto responds with remarkable honesty. He draws a parallel to how people might view police officers or carabinieri—most are good people doing important work, but those with prejudices against the institution project their feelings onto every uniform they see.
"Whether you believe or not, this uniform creates a separation. And this uniform made it difficult for me to have real, effective encounters with people."
He explains that the clerical collar created barriers on both sides. Believers saw in it a great value; non-believers saw great disvalue. But both saw a uniform that created separation rather than connection.
Moreover, Alberto admits that wearing this uniform made it difficult for him to feel free to relate to people authentically, to share the Gospel message unmediated by excessive institutional filters.
3. The Evolution of Awareness
Kayn points out something he noticed while reading Alberto's book: a clear evolution in his thinking, particularly regarding the Church's handling of pedophilia and abuse cases. In the past, when questioned on programs like "Muschio Selvaggio," Alberto appeared defensive, perhaps because he was still inside what Kayn calls "a certain bubble."
The book reveals a different Alberto—one who began stepping outside that bubble and considering other perspectives. This represents what Kayn identifies as a broadening of horizons and a beautiful example of intellectual and spiritual growth.
Alberto confirms this observation completely:
"Before, I felt obligated to defend the Church tooth and nail. This is a very human dynamic—we do it with family, with our favorite sports team, with our own projects. But when you free yourself from a possessive or identity-based relationship, you can look at things from another point of view, from the outside, and see reality perhaps for what it is."
He explains that while he always knew abuse existed in the clergy, his previous perspective was "Yes, but there's also good—let's look at all the good things." Now he asks: why not examine the problems peacefully and take a clear position on the negative aspects?
Alberto identifies the COVID-19 pandemic as a major turning point, not just for him but for the Church's relationship with society. When churches closed during lockdown and then reopened, there was a dramatic drop in participation. As one important Catholic theologian observed, people discovered they could live without religion. Those who returned were the truly motivated believers—far fewer in number.
4. Systemic Problems and Institutional Defense
The conversation turns to how the Church handles scandals. Kayn notes that the problem isn't individual bad actors—every large organization has those—but rather a system that prioritizes maintaining an immaculate image of sanctity over punishing crimes or protecting victims.
Alberto agrees, noting that different episcopal conferences handle these issues very differently. The approach in France, for example, is vastly different from Italy's approach.
He diagnoses the root problem:
"There's a perception of being under siege. The risk is to become rigid, closed off, defensive, to hide problems because you feel like a minority, in difficulty, that the world is a bad enemy, so you barricade yourself inside."
This defensive posture, Alberto argues, is exactly the wrong approach for a Church trying to find its place in an increasingly secularized world. The institution needs to understand how to be a religion in today's secular society rather than retreating into a fortress mentality.
5. From Enemy to Learning Tool
In a fascinating revelation, Alberto admits that Padre Kayn was once his "nemesis." He remembers the parody interview Kayn made during COVID—which Kayn had actually forgotten about until this moment.
But starting last year, Alberto began actively seeking out perspectives from non-believers, including Padre Kayn's satirical videos:
"I started watching your videos because I was curious to know the point of view of a non-believer. And it was very useful—your point of view, your analysis of Church life."
He clarifies that he still doesn't agree with everything Kayn says, but some perspectives, some ways of looking at things, helped him engage in very critical discernment. Videos from Kayn and other channels critical of the Church, combined with testimonies and experiences from others, genuinely helped him.
"It was truly exiting the bubble. Considering that there's a plurality of thought, that I can't look at life only from my point of view—this was truly illuminating."
This represents a core theme of the podcast: the liberating power of doubt. Alberto didn't lose his faith entirely, but he did distance himself from rigid doctrine and institutional conformity. What emerges from his book is precisely this journey through doubt—cracks in the asphalt of indoctrination that eventually allow something new to grow.
6. Doubt as Liberation
The book Alberto wrote is, by his own admission, about half doubt—a series of questions about priestly life, Church life, and Christian faith. These doubts were fundamental because they:
- Activated his critical thinking
- Allowed him to humanize himself and his faith
- Made him more free and aware
"My faith hasn't been lost, but I realize it's changed, it's very changed. It's not another faith—I think it's more authentic than before."
Alberto makes an important theological point: if Christians believe in a God of history—not an unchanging entity above everything but a Spirit that animates creation and speaks through it—then being capable of truly listening to God's voice in reality is a sign of spiritual maturity.
Kayn challenges this from his perspective as a non-believer. He struggles to find correlation between the idea of a loving, protective Father God and the brutal reality of the world—the food chain, suffering, natural disasters. He can't reconcile these two aspects.
Alberto acknowledges this is a valid question that everyone, including those in seminary, should ask. The Church has developed responses over centuries, but the answers that worked before don't work now.
7. The Santa Claus Analogy
Alberto offers an interesting analogy to explain how religious understanding must evolve:
"When we were children, our parents told us Santa Claus existed, and we believed every word from mom and dad was truth. Sometimes they told us things that weren't entirely correct, but they said them for our good, and that was okay."
As we grow up, we realize Santa Claus doesn't exist, but that doesn't mean Christmas isn't real or that the magic of Christmas is useless. The magical representation tied to Santa Claus doesn't correspond to reality, but there's still truth in Christmas, in the magic of the season.
Similarly, humanity has "grown up." The relationship between humanity and Mother Church must change because humanity is more aware now than before. This is especially true in the West, and it applies to religion as well.
The Church is in crisis—but it's like a mother whose teenage child rebels. The mother thinks "I've done everything wrong," but actually, she just needs to change her approach.
"Mother Church doesn't need to be thrown away, God doesn't need to be canceled, but we need to change the type of relationship, the way we talk about it, the way we propose it, and the way we take people's freedom seriously."
8. The Seminary System
Kayn draws a parallel between seminary formation and contexts he studies involving sects or strongly conditioning environments. While not a sect in the strict sense, the mechanism is similar:
- It removes what you were before and what came before
- Places you in a very rigid context with countless rules
- Makes it easy to strip away individuality and rewrite a pre-packaged identity
- The priestly dimension becomes totalizing—you can't "clock out" and stop being a priest
Alberto admits that initially, he didn't recognize this as problematic—it was absolutely normal. There's no evil mastermind deliberately harming people; rather, it's a system that's been operating for 500 years and has become stratified.
The problem is that what worked in the past doesn't work now. In previous eras, if you were born into a family of farmers, you became a farmer—no questions asked. If you were the last of nine children, if you were a woman, you became a nun because there wasn't money for a dowry. That was normal in that type of society.
Alberto reveals that seminaries were created based on military life—very similar to a barracks in approach. They were designed to form perfect soldiers of Christ, people capable of fighting to spread the faith and the Gospel.
The seminary as we know it today was created by Saint Charles Borromeo around 1500, when the Church was in crisis and the specter of Protestant Reformation loomed. There was a need to close ranks and form priests truly capable of offering testimony of faith according to Catholic doctrine.
"I wonder—in today's changed context, must we find new ways to form priests? Formation is inevitable, seminaries won't disappear, but they must change."
He quotes one of his superiors who told him:
"Seminaries won't change, or they'll struggle to change greatly, because seminaries exist to form priests. But today we don't know what a priest should be, we don't know what the priest of the future should be, so we can't act on formation."
9. A Different Model of Formation
When Alberto came to Milan, he lived with young men in a vocational discernment process. They lived in the city center, went to school, had friends. He realized this way of living was much better than living in the same closed place, separated from the world, without freedom.
The idea of a formation space makes sense, but perhaps more as a small community of friends living in the midst of the world, with freedom to have experiences like all their peers, then discerning whether to consecrate themselves or not.
Alberto admits he let himself be molded by the seminary system because he wanted to be a good seminarian—obedient in everything, respectful of rules, eager to meet expectations. He was fascinated by the lives of great saints and wanted to be holy and perfect like them. So he was willing to follow every rule and indication in order to live that kind of sanctity.
"Maybe I succeeded—I didn't become a saint, but I became a good seminarian, a good priest. But all this perhaps compressed my freedom, my humanity."
When he entered the free context of Milan—and Milan specifically, the world of social media—this differential of freedom exploded. That's when the doubts began flooding in.
10. An Escape or an Ascent?
Kayn shares his view that he's always seen the seminary and the choice of priesthood as a possible escape route—an escape from reality, from responsibilities, from affections.
He quotes a striking phrase from Alberto's book about how this context can become a "social elevator for the mediocre." Alberto clarifies he called it an "ascensore sociale per i mediocri" (social elevator for the mediocre).
Kayn presses further: How can you mature when you enter there as a young person and live in a bubble? How can you mature affectively? Normal human turmoil remains because it's continually repressed. You're repressed emotionally, beyond just the physical and carnal sphere, but also emotionally.
Alberto agrees completely, but adds a crucial caveat:
"No seminarian would ever say this. I didn't say it either, because it's not a context of oppression—it's a context of goodness, where you know people love you, think they want your good, you talk about God, and there are beautiful experiences."
But at the systemic level—the system of seminary as such, the fact that you must leave for 6-7-8 years, cut yourself off so much, wear the priestly shirt at age 21—even when done by people with great smiles and big hearts, this system produces the effects Kayn describes.
11. The Danger of the Social Elevator
Alberto explains that the risk of seminary as a social elevator is structural because the Church offers power to those who become priests:
- Power over consciences
- Social power
- You have a parish—you're the boss
"It's very easy for priests with this power to domineer. I also felt like a big shot at the beginning because I was a priest, because I had the collar. But I didn't realize it, unfortunately."
Today, seminaries are increasingly empty. The real problem isn't priests who leave—it's the ones who will never be there, who never enter seminary. Seminaries are increasingly empty, and it's very easy to find in seminaries people who are:
- Very fragile
- At risk of living religious belonging and clergy life as a barrier from the world
- Displaying a surge of traditionalism and rigidity
"There's a certain rigidity especially in seminaries in general, in the young clergy. And this, in my opinion, is a symptom of fear toward this world."
It's easier to barricade yourself inside structures, roles, a millennial tradition, thinking everything is right, knowing that all this gives you power.
Alberto emphasizes he's not throwing dirt on people—these are choices he made too, and he'd make them again in some way. He knows all the positive aspects. But if we don't talk about the negative aspects, the difficulties, the criticisms, if there are tons of taboos, we risk really shooting ourselves in the foot.
12. The Perception of Power and Freedom
Kayn asks Alberto about when he was a priest and perceived that aura of power—how did he receive the criticisms that Kayn and others made on the web? What feelings did they stir inside him?
Alberto identifies COVID as a watershed moment. From COVID onward, he became a public figure, and all public figures get criticized. He had to accept being criticized. But in general, as a priest with respect to his community, it was very difficult for him.
"The first years in parish were quite hard for me because I couldn't feel like others—I felt like more, and so I didn't want to be friends with people. I didn't want others to treat me as a friend. I wanted them to have respect for me, I wanted reverence."
Even today, priests receive letters addressed to "Very Reverend Don Alberto." Priests are "the reverends"—those to whom reverence must be given as such. If you believe this too much, you risk truly feeling like you're in another category, playing in another league.
Then it becomes easy to:
- Fire away at people from the pulpit
- Make people cry in the confessional by making them feel guilty
- Think the world revolves around you
These dynamics don't happen only in the clergy—they happen in every closed context. Alberto has lawyer friends doing apprenticeships who tell him about similar power dynamics between the head of the firm and the interns, or in hospitals, schools, and yes, the clergy.
13. Hiding Behind the Gospel
The problem specific to the clergy, Alberto explains, is that while living very human dynamics like everyone else, they hide them behind a screen of Gospel. In reality, it's service, it's done for love, it's for the good of others. Being a priest is living a heavy cross that's necessary for the salvation of others.
"I'm not surprised by the fragilities of priests and my own. But the problem sometimes is the hypocrisy—that makes you hide all this behind holy things."
If someone realizes this and understands the deception a bit, they feel betrayed. This is why many young people leave.
Kayn completely agrees with this analysis. His criticism of religion is precisely about hiding things behind sanctity—behind inviolability, untouchability, indisputability. When something becomes sacred, indisputable, and untouchable, it becomes dangerous. Indisputable ideas become dangerous, and especially people who cannot be questioned can become dangerous.
Alberto concurs, noting he didn't realize this before, but now he's experiencing it firsthand. In recent days, he's been receiving an appalling amount of insults, criticism, attacks, bad judgments—truly targeted. And the thing that makes him smile is that it's believers doing all this.
"Why do they do it? Because they think they have the truth in hand. They think they're totally on the side of what's right. So if a person takes a step beyond the boundary line between right and wrong, then they feel authorized to hurl every type of invective, words, judgment toward this person."
14. The Violence of Certainty
Alberto says he somewhat pities these people because the fundamental problem is the presumption of having truth in hand, and this risks generating tremendous violence.
Kayn enthusiastically agrees:
"This is incredible how much we agree. This is exactly what I think and what I always say."
The majority of Alberto's fiercest criticisms have come from those who should be, in religious terms, his brothers, his flock, his family—his community. There's a sacramental bond that theoretically these people should recognize, but ideas bulldoze over people.
Jesus never did this. In fact, when people said "the law of God imposes rest during the Sabbath," Jesus asked:
"But excuse me, there's a person who's sick? Is it more important to respect the law of the Sabbath or to save a person? What does the law really say?"
This attitude doesn't seem very evangelical. This is the problem of Christianity always—when it's not faithful to itself, not faithful to its origin, which is Jesus, the Gospel. Throughout history, castles have been built that sometimes don't have very evangelical foundations in practice. When this problem emerges, the greatest contradiction of religion appears.
Alberto expresses deep regret, not for himself (he has thick skin), but for others:
"If a young non-believer were to look at what's happening around me, would they want to become part of this community?"
Or if a priest in crisis, a nun in crisis, a friar in crisis—or someone facing worse crisis than his, because his crisis is a conscious crisis (he wasn't suffering), someone who felt truly oppressed—would they feel free to leave, change communities, or voice criticism knowing they'd be targeted, attacked, dragged through the mud?
15. The Birth of Enmity
Kayn points out that enmities between believers and non-believers arise the moment someone claims to have revealed truth. You can't have a real conversation or be friends, metaphorically speaking, if you're the one with the truth. Automatically, you don't even put yourself in a position to listen to others because you already have the truth. Add to this a garb that confers reverence, and it gets even worse.
Alberto says he really enjoys being able to dialogue with believers because he likes not being an enemy to people. Despite him and Kayn seeing things completely differently on certain issues and faith in general, they can have a dialogue, they can be close on certain things.
"I don't doubt your good faith at all. I don't question your good faith in your journey, even if I don't share the nuances or intentions."
What makes Alberto smile is that often he finds himself more in tune with non-believers than with believers. With non-believers, he can talk more serenely, even about God—getting closer to the mystery of God compared to people who have faith.
Within the world of believers, there's an abyss—people who've studied or haven't, simpler people or more profound, more spiritual or less spiritual. He doesn't want to generalize, but interestingly, in the Gospel, when Jesus compliments someone's faith, he does so toward people who weren't believers—the Roman centurion, the Syrophoenician woman. These were people who, according to Jews, were dregs of society, people who would burn in hell. Yet Jesus said:
"I have never found in Israel—in the community of believers—anyone who has faith like these people."
Alberto can say the same: he's found non-believers who have more faith or more spirituality than people who wave their religious belonging like a flag.
16. Belonging vs. Conversion
Kayn notes that in the early passages of Alberto's book, when he wanted to bring people toward the church, it seemed less like conversion toward following a path of goodness and more like wanting people to join his team.
Alberto admits:
"Yes, a bit. But I was convinced my team was the winning one, obviously."
He believes the Church is necessary—that it's necessary to live faith, or the search for life's meaning, or to approach the mystery of God and existence within a community. But he means Church in the evangelical sense, not as an institution.
Young people who go to the oratory don't say "I belong to the Catholic Church." Some do, but most want relationships and community. He founded a community called Fraternità (Fraternity) of very believing people, but they became very believing because they experienced the beauty of being Church—because they were truly friends with each other, because they truly loved each other greatly. This experience of church then brought them closer to God.
The Church is necessary. The problem is thinking the Church has a perimeter, a very clear entrance threshold. Right now, it's hard to understand who's in the Church and who's not, who believers are. He'd say believers are all the baptized—and all the others too. For him, everyone is in the church, actually.
"We're humanity first, before being church. And the challenge, theoretically the prophecy of the Church, should be reminding humanity that we should all be brothers and sisters, that we should all feel like one family."
This is the mission, the prophecy of the Church, and this is what should be verified.
17. The Problem with Belonging
Kayn agrees you can't disagree with teaching a sense of fraternity and community among human beings—that's clearly beautiful. He shares his own journey: he's a former believer who frequented the church even after his crisis before distancing himself. He couldn't understand why God would give him regulations that made no sense—judging him for not going to mass or not praying in a certain way, rather than for the good he could do for other people.
This was his experience with the priests he asked questions of or in catechism. Paradoxically, he did a book with one of Alberto's former colleagues, and at the Turin Book Fair conference, Kayn asked:
"If I'm a good person, I behave well, I respect others, but I don't believe in God and I don't believe in the church—does that mean I go to hell?"
The answer was yes.
"You understand there's a stark contrast—there's a God who loves you but doesn't judge you because you're a good person. He judges you for belonging."
18. Doctrine vs. Pastoral Practice
Alberto doesn't think his former colleague said it that way, and if he did, it's not the Church's thinking—the Church doesn't actually say this.
He observes that especially young people who remain in the Church seem to live a certain freedom toward Church rules. The reason for their faith isn't correspondence to regulations or adherence to precepts—there's much more to it. They make things work that don't work well because there's a bigger reason to resist or to tolerate things that don't sit right.
A striking example: homosexuals. Theoretically, according to Church teaching, they live in sin. But there are Catholic homosexuals who are proud to be Catholic and continue going to mass, even though theoretically they couldn't receive communion if they have relationships or cohabitate.
"If there's room for traditionalists who celebrate mass in Latin and ordain bishops despite the Holy See not approving it, I think there's room for an experience like mine."
In practice, there are tons of groups or attention from dioceses, from priests toward homosexual people. In fact, community is created, church is lived, faith is lived with them, even though doctrine is against homosexuals.
So right now—and this is hypocrisy—the Church says look at what we do, which is more important than doctrine, than what we say. Maybe eventually we should also figure out this doctrine—whether it makes sense to keep it like this or change it.
19. The Evolution of Doctrine on Homosexuality
In the past, Church doctrine on homosexuality was more coherent with practice. Homosexuality was a sin—even the desire, the attraction toward a person of the same sex was sin, and consequently the acts too. Then it changed. Now the Church believes homosexual acts are sin, but homosexual tendency is not sin.
"But this is rather contradictory and rather hypocritical. I make the desire guilty—not so much, the desire is good, but if this desire becomes action, it's no longer good."
Alberto believes this doctrinal aspect is problematic, but many make peace with it because there's a bigger reason—God, faith. Faith is a bigger reason to stay rather than scandal over this doctrinal incoherence.
Kayn notes Alberto's point of view has changed tremendously from what he read in the book and what he once declared regarding homosexuality. Once you start reasoning with your own head—and Alberto himself says in the book that sometimes he spoke with others' words, with what he'd been taught, with doctrine—when you start interfacing with reality and reasoning with your own head, you ask:
"How can I condemn or consider outside God's love two people of the same sex who love each other, are together, and respect each other? Where's the evil in this?"
20. Listening Changes Everything
Alberto explains this shift happened because first, he listened to Catholic theologians talking about homosexuality in very different terms from the official Church position. He's realizing theology is moving in this direction. While the magisterium and the Pope just said doctrine won't change, theology is already changing, and there are more open theologians.
But what is the Church? It's not only the magisterium, the institution, the Pope. The Church is also theologians who reflect, think, and try to understand how to inculturate the Gospel in today's society. And there's the people of God, the community—this is also the Church. From below, from the community, the sense of faith regarding homosexuality has changed greatly.
"So what does the Church say about homosexuality? The magisterium says one thing, theology says one thing, but the people of God say something else."
He knows many Catholic homosexual young people who have great faith, are very committed in their communities, are beautiful people. Yet technically, according to the magisterium, they'd be somewhat outside.
"I learned to look at these people with different eyes. Because I talked to them, listened to them, saw that the way they loved is not in itself contradictory with anything in the Gospel."
It was important for him to move from books, from words learned in lessons, to real encounters with people, to exchanges of life, opinions, faith with those who live this condition. This was illuminating because it completely changed and revolutionized his point of view.
21. The Problem of Cherry-Picking Scripture
Kayn acknowledges this is beautiful but raises a concern: isn't there a risk of cherry-picking? He notes that in the last pages of Alberto's book, a Protestant girl quotes a passage from Joshua to wish him well, and Alberto takes that passage and speaks of it positively, taking the good things. The problem is that in Joshua, God orders the extermination of men, women, and children—and in the narrative, this is carried out.
"So how do we deal with this? Because the problem is that this book, taken the way you take it, can teach something good. The problem is that inside it also has many things that have brought so much pain, so much suffering to the world, so much division."
Kayn attributes this to a univocal God who hasn't been able to express himself univocally. Even with Jesus, who doesn't judge faith in some passages, there are other passages where he only grants the Canaanite woman's request when she submits to the institution, to the power he represents. There are passages about "impure acts" in later letters, so how do you take only the good when there are also many things that can create problems?
22. Scripture, Interpretation, and God Beyond Books
Alberto responds with theological clarity: The Bible wasn't written by God, so it's not an immutable text. It's mutated over centuries, was written with specific intentions. The Gospel itself was written 50, 60, 70 years after the narrated events and was written with reworkings to say certain things. Jesus didn't say exactly those things or do exactly those things. We're understanding this now, but perhaps it wasn't understood before—they're in a different context now.
"I believe it's important to recognize that God is also greater than what is said about God in scripture."
Does God speak only in the Gospel and not in the Quran, for example? Does God not speak in the sacred books of other religious traditions? Alberto thinks yes, God does speak there. Does God perhaps also speak in the work of science over centuries that advances humanity? He thinks yes.
"God is greater than the books of God."
Those books tell us about events—they're not theology books but books recounting events that occurred, interpreted, reread, retold. At the base are facts, but they clearly need our interpretation.
"The Bible is a very dangerous book because if you interpret it badly, you risk killing people in God's name—which has happened."
The key is interpreting it well. God isn't only there—God is inside us too. It's about putting the Spirit of God within us in communication with the Spirit of God in the Bible, as well as the Spirit of God in reality and creation. In the circulation of this divine spirit, we have the possibility to live from God.
The Bible illuminates his life, but without his life, he doesn't know how to read the Bible. Without careful analysis of what happens in the world, without grasping the Spirit of God in reality and creation, he doesn't have the tools to approach Jesus's message.
23. Against Idolatry of Scripture
The problem arises when scripture is idolized, when it's taken partially, when a verse is seized to make that verse say what someone actually wants to say. This is still done today in the Christian world in general, perhaps more in the evangelical world than the Catholic world.
"What matters is the person of Jesus, the spirit of Jesus, the spirit of the Gospel—that counts more than individual words."
If you take two lines where Jesus says "You'll go to hell," those lines decontextualized from Jesus's life, from the spirit of Jesus, from Jesus's intention—who came to preach love and live it among his disciples and for others—those words taken alone become dangerous.
Alberto offers a humorous illustration: imagine if in this episode, when asked why he left the priesthood, he simply said "For sex." If someone took only that without context, without all his motivations, people might say "For Don Alberto, having sex is more important than God, women are more important than God"—things he never said and doesn't believe. This decontextualization is dangerous, and it's often done with the Gospel too.
24. Sacred Texts and Absolute Truth
Kayn clarifies they're not here to argue or change each other's minds about what the Bible is or interprets. The problem, they agree, is considering certain texts sacred—indisputable absolute truth. That's when problems arise, because these texts contain both beautiful phrases and very dangerous phrases. If you think everything is God's exact word, problems begin to emerge.
Alberto gives the example of Genesis: if you believe that's a realistic account of how the world was born, you'll encounter great misunderstandings. Or if you read the episode of the serpent speaking with Eve and Adam, then forge the expression "original sin" starting from that text, you'll have consequences.
"The way the text is read, the way it's interpreted, is as important as the text itself."
Kayn jokes that in that episode, the serpent makes a better impression according to how the story is set up.
Alberto can accept someone saying "I don't know if this is truly God's word—I don't have certainty it's like this, but I try to take what's good within this context." He can understand and even agree with that type of interpretation from a believer's perspective as useful.
The problem returns to what Alberto said: idolatry of text, idolatry of revealed truth in what these texts contain. When you start identifying with this idea, with possessing the truth, and you can't question what you consider truth, it's a moment away from falling into fundamentalism.
25. Fundamentalism and Toxic Traditionalism
The risk of fundamentalism in the Catholic context is clearly less than in other religions, Kayn notes. There have been cases, but it's clearly less. However, there's also a toxic traditionalist context—precisely those who attack Alberto most fiercely.
Alberto explains that technically, the Word of God is Jesus—Jesus is the Word of God, and not even the only Word of God. Then men recounted through human words the events of Jesus, and then at the end of mass, after reading the Gospel and readings, they say "Word of God." But technically, the Word of God is Jesus.
The problem is when letters, expressions, words are absolutized, thinking they're themselves the expression of God's direct will in every case. This fundamentalism has done tremendous harm and does tremendous harm to people today.
Over the last century, historical-critical studies of sacred texts have completely revolutionized understanding of the Bible. The problem is these historical-critical studies stopped at theology and haven't yet reached, in Alberto's view, the average believing conscience of people.
"Theologians know, biblical scholars are very aware of what the Bible is and isn't. But the people don't know."
Biblical scholars know Moses never existed. But if you tell a believer Moses never existed, they go crazy—how is it possible he never existed? Or Paul's words about women are still read during masses, even though those are from letters not even attributed to Paul (at least six of Paul's letters are disputed regarding whether Paul actually wrote them).
26. The Gap Between Theology and Practice
Kayn asks if Alberto did this historical-critical approach to Biblical study in his journey—in seminary or after?
Alberto confirms: in seminary. Things are taught well, but the problem is even in seminaries, theology is one thing, but then there's tradition, and sometimes this contrast emerges very strongly.
In seminary, if you get good grades, it doesn't really count much—you can get all 18s (barely passing) and still become a priest, because what's important is carrying forward a tradition, being repeaters of what the Pope says—obedience to the institution.
Alberto believes theology today has reached a high level of awareness. The theological world, the academic theological world, knows how to engage with the world, with the world's thinking, with the world's concerns. The problem is there's no popularization. All this doesn't trickle down to people, and what often reaches people is only the homogenized, mainstream, traditional version of Catholic faith—which isn't enough today to face this change of epoch.
27. The Historical Reality Behind Faith
Kayn says there are myriads of things he'd like to ask but tries to stay focused on the most important ones. He'd love to discuss doctrinal congruencies with Alberto—for example, Adam and Eve. Reading the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the institution believes two individuals truly existed who then generated humanity. But when you talk to priests, theologians, this doesn't emerge. Alberto speaks of metaphor—he used the term "metastorica" (meta-historical) in a video.
They should do a separate episode where they talk about the Bible, but Kayn has a burning question: Given Alberto had a historical-critical approach and knew:
- The Gospels were anonymous and names were attributed later
- Some letters might not have been written by the attributed authors
- Biblical books were written by different traditions
- There were interpolations
Didn't he doubt it might not be true as they told him—that it was just a grand narrative, a grand construction? Not that God doesn't exist (God might be another idea), but that specific religion.
28. Why Doubt Didn't Destroy Faith
Alberto's answer is fascinating:
"No, I never had that doubt. Because I trusted too much, and because I believed that what gave me strength to believe all this were the fruits, the results."
He reasoned: the Church has been around for 2000 years, has done so much good, done great works, shaped culture—so evidently all this is the foundation. The foundations aren't seen, but they're there.
On the other hand, the first exam taken in seminary is the history of Israel—a history exam. It's an exam that sometimes disturbs seminarians because it dismantles most credulities about the Old Testament. You study the people of Israel, Israel's history, the events narrated in the Old Testament, and realize you're talking about all this as if they were historical events, period. And they were historical events, period.
But then the believing conscience of that people elaborated over centuries, if not millennia, texts that spoke of God. That exam helped him dismantle certain convictions, but not enough to question everything, because it didn't hurt him—his faith continued anyway.
Even in recent periods, when he discovered other things, other incongruities, or dismantled certain idols he'd made regarding some biblical characters and texts from the Old and New Testament—this doesn't torment him or disturb him. In fact, everything seems much more true.
"Saint Paul was a normal man who didn't always say good things and didn't always write holy things—or rather, they were holy at the time in a Jewish context he was from. Those things had their reason 2000 years ago, but now perhaps they're worth much less."
But if some texts of Paul are relativized now, he doesn't lose faith, Christianity isn't worthless. Maybe the problem is having tied the words of sacred texts too much to the facts they recounted, or having linked, hooked, imprisoned God's truth to the words with which God has been spoken about over centuries.
"God is still greater, and texts help, give paths to arrive at God, keys to understanding God, illuminate comprehension of God—but they don't exhaust it."
29. His Brother's Different Path
Kayn jokes that reading Alberto's book, he thought maybe he should have interviewed Alberto's brother instead, since he'd agree with him more. Alberto's brother became an atheist—and Kayn distinguishes between conscious atheists (who've done the journey, asked questions, studied, given themselves answers) and unconscious atheists (who just don't care about religion).
Kayn notes some passages in the book where Alberto makes what he calls "little jabs" at being atheist that he doesn't share—like quoting a psychologist suggesting young people seeking meaning and relationships aren't atheists, as if atheists are people who don't seek meaning or relationships. Or attributing his brother's depression to being atheist, though Alberto added "maybe nihilist."
Kayn explains his view:
"For me, an atheist is simply someone who doesn't believe in God—and especially it has nothing to do with being a better person or more intelligent than a believer. An atheist can believe in the tooth fairy for all I care, because the word itself means only you don't believe in God—especially in the God presented to you."
He can't believe in an entity he doesn't know that nobody has postulated. He perceives being atheist as a response—you present your God, describe it, give it connotations, and then he can decide whether that God doesn't exist or the opposite, based on evidence, reality, studies.
30. Believers vs. Thinkers
Alberto explains his brother lost faith after recovering it thanks to him. His brother studied philosophy, is a very abyssal person, very introspective—maybe too much—thinks a lot. The choice he made is backed by tons of motivations. He even wrote a thesis criticizing the religious phenomenon philosophically.
Alberto has met many atheists, but most, as Kayn said, unconscious. And this disappoints him. Cardinal Martini said he doesn't care if someone has faith or not—he cares if someone thinks or doesn't think. Alberto believes this matters tremendously.
"If I have before me a person who doesn't believe in God but thinks, wants to think, believes in human thought, believes in men—in what men can do and think—then we already have a very important point in common, maybe bigger than eventual shared faith."
The response to the mystery of existence—a believer, a non-believer, a believer and an atheist are two faces of the same coin, simply giving opposite or different answers. But the act of faith or non-faith is the same: standing before a mystery we don't know exactly, don't know exactly what it is. One says "Yes, I believe there's something," another says "No, I don't believe there's something."
"But the act of thinking, the possibility of standing before this mystery as human beings, then deciding whether to make an act of faith or an act of non-faith—it's through thought, based on thought, that we can compare and possibly, if I'm a believer, have more conscious faith, or if I'm a non-believer, have more conscious non-faith."
31. Philosophical God vs. Religious God
Kayn agrees halfway. From the perspective of a philosophical God, he agrees you can't be 100% atheist because science doesn't even know everything about the universe yet—we know the minimal part of matter, of everything. So he understands that from a philosophical God perspective, a general idea of God, at a certain point you must at least give a point to the agnostic if you don't want to go to the other side.
"For me, from my point of view, there's no need for God to explain reality. But I clearly also understand the other position."
He gets that might be an act of faith, even not believing from the philosophical God perspective. But for him, it's not like that from the perspective of the God of religions—that's a structured God, explained within certain stakes and with its fence that you can disprove, investigate, or study in other ways.
Alberto actually agrees with this too:
"I understand what you're saying. In a theistic perspective where God is this entity with respect to which we humans relate by constructing religions..."
But if we think God is beyond religions, and all religions throughout human history in time and space have provided concrete ways to approach the mystery of God that nonetheless remains transcendent—then he understands.
He's convinced we'll never get rid of religions, of believing, because even from a scientific standpoint, it's part of our nature. The mechanism of our brain is inclined to seek intentional entities even when these entities aren't there.
He recommends a book by an evolutionist, a neuroscientist, and a cognitive psychologist—Vallortigara, Telmo Pievani, and Girotto—called Nati per Credere (Born to Believe), which explains from an evolutionary and scientific standpoint why we have this structure in our brains. Evolution has forged us this way, at least the evolutionary path has forged us this way.
"So in a certain sense, we also have to come to terms with it. We can't demand absolute reason, absolute rationality. We'll never be machines, or at least arriving at that would mean losing a part of humanity, because we're also irrational beings—there's nothing to be done, we have to make peace with this too."
32. Sexuality, Celibacy, and Dehumanization
Regarding losing humanity, one of the fundamental points of the last part of Alberto's book is his relationship with his body, with sexuality in general, with pleasure. What's asked with priestly ordination and celibacy is what also alienates the individual and makes him become something else, become his idea—because sexuality is part of being human, so removing that aspect also means dehumanizing the person. Kayn sees this as a risk.
Alberto responds carefully: It's not necessarily a risk that always happens in every case. The real problem is not sexuality but the freedom to live sexuality—the obligation, exactly.
There are people who live celibacy without being priests—scientists or people extremely dedicated to their work. Or someone coming out of a finished relationship says "Now I want to live celibacy, I want to live my life without committing to relationships with others." When it's a personal choice, there's no problem.
In the case of the Catholic clergy, this is an obligatory law. That's the problem. Priests can be celibate; celibate priests can do good. It doesn't do good if it's a choice endured, a choice that prevented you from maturing your humanity.
"If your humanity is relatively mature and resolved, then a choice like celibacy can also do good, can help you be more capable of spending yourself for others, more creative, more available for service."
But if your humanity isn't resolved from this standpoint, celibacy risks being a cage within which contradictions, transgressions, unhealed wounds wallow—and all this hurts. It hurts you first, and then by reflection, you risk hurting others.
33. Saints and Self-Harm
Kayn found himself relating strongly to the chapter where Alberto discusses these issues, including the relationship with suffering. Alberto spoke of some saints who caused themselves suffering to avoid falling into certain temptations—which is what Kayn does when he makes dossiers on saints, highlighting these problematics.
Did Alberto, in his journey, discover certain saints who, with today's eyes—the eyes of today's Alberto—make him say "Wow, this is unacceptable"?
"Yes, let's say yes. Saints who threw themselves in the snow or among thorns or into fire to resist sexual urges were an inspiration for me once."
Now he thinks they're not exactly healthy models. But here he truly says it with the benefit of the doubt: maybe they never actually did it, or maybe it's the narrative constructed around these saints to make them separated from men and unreachable models to strive toward—also unreachable figures from this standpoint.
Clearly, much has been done at the propaganda level in recounting certain figures, especially older ones, where there's even doubt about the true existence of certain characters. They were recounted fundamentally to try to transmit a message, and martyrdom as final aspiration is terrible.
34. When Narrative Replaces Reality
Alberto clarifies:
"This is right—it's not wrong. The problem is when you think it was all exactly like that."
This was the Church's marketing—having things to say, finding ways to say them, having messages to bring to people, finding ways to convey them. So recounting examples in flesh and blood with attached narratives helps convey messages. The problem is when you confuse reality with narrative, thinking it happened exactly like that.
This damages humanity because you're dehumanizing these people, these human beings, these Christians. You don't make them more human—you make them unreachable. This is contrary to the Gospel itself.
This then generates tons of guilt, inadequacy at never being able to reach certain figures. Also how Catholic art has transformed the figure of Mary over time regarding what they said earlier about the body and sexuality—she's been completely stripped (metaphorically speaking, actually covered up) to nullify female forms. Now Mary is a cylinder—she has no breasts, no body, nothing feminine.
Virginity imposed as absolute value becomes something unattainable, which then generates guilt and sin, therefore continuously, therefore something toxic that hurts—a vision from this standpoint that's harmful.
35. Still Catholic?
Kayn wonders: maybe in a few years they'll meet again and he'll interview Alberto for "The Beauty of Losing Faith." But right now, given all Alberto's doubts and all his ways of contradicting the Catholic institution, does he still consider himself Catholic? For example, Kayn sees him more directed toward a form of Protestantism, given his questioning of institution and doctrine.
Does Alberto still see himself as Catholic?
"Yes, yes. Because I believe the Catholic Church... I'm against a rigid perception of the Catholic Church."
The Church is born Catholic, is Catholic—Catholic means universal. It's the Christianity that won among many, or rather, the most original. Then from this Catholic Church, other churches were created, fragmentation was created.
"If there's a place where there's room for everyone, it should be precisely the Catholic Church."
He's met—if there's room for traditionalists who celebrate mass in Latin and ordain bishops despite the Holy See not approving it, there's room for an experience like his. If there's room for a Don Gallo or a Don Gigi di Romena who live the liturgy and their ministry in an original way, there's room for a person like him.
"It's beautiful that people approaching the Catholic Church can say 'I'm not forced to stay within pre-imposed, rigid models, to adhere to doctrine without possibility of having a critical voice.' This should be the Catholic Church—in fact, this IS the Catholic Church in reality."
What emerges sometimes and the way it's communicated makes it seem completely different. But the beauty of the Catholic Church is precisely this: inside there's room for everyone.
36. A Dangerous Revolution
Kayn says Alberto scares him tremendously, because what he's doing—given that his way of interpreting his religion brought results (he filled churches in a period when churches have only emptied)—if this mission of his should revolutionize the Church enough to make them reason that maybe celibacy, invented in the 1000s after Christ, could also be removed...
"For me, the Church without celibacy would gain so many points. And I say this to my detriment as an anticlerical atheist. But the Church without celibacy would absolutely bring so many people back into the community."
He's quite convinced of this because it would bring many people to perhaps undertake that type of path and also live it more freely, thus maybe concentrating on the message they want to send from their point of view rather than remaining within certain stakes, doctrines, or regulations. The message would be central rather than regulations.
Alberto responds powerfully:
"This is what I want to do, and I want to do it so much that I chose to leave my role. I was willing to leave everything to undertake this mission, because I believe it's the only essential thing to do."
He's not saying those who remain priests are wrong, but who's trying to go outside? Who's actually trying to dialogue with the world, trying to find new ways of interpreting religion, of being religion today in the secularized world?
"For me, this has meant relativizing many things, and this relativization is making me feel lighter, freer, and I hope in the future also more evangelical."
Conclusion
Kayn renews his compliments, explaining more fully why he considers Alberto's choice courageous. It's a choice of coherence toward himself, which is deeply appreciable. But it's also courageous because while the "influencer priest" had a certain spotlight and an anomaly that captured attention, with the Church structure behind him, once you leave, you're no longer the priest influencer attracting that spotlight. You no longer have the Church's structure and support behind you.
"You're going into the dark to follow what you feel. So even not sharing some visions, I can only appreciate the coherence and courage from a human point of view."
Alberto appreciates this, acknowledging:
"For me now it's more difficult. As long as I stayed inside the Catholic Church, I had the support of the role, institutions, community. But I realized I risked speaking to people inside, and instead I now want to speak to people outside."
This is also the limit of other priest influencers in general—they use social media as a digital extension of their physical church, speaking to those who already have faith, doing Catholic divulgation to increase awareness of those already Catholic. But how do we reach non-Catholics, non-believers, or go into that territory?
"Who and how is trying to go into other territories without the pretense of planting flags, but rather finding points of contact and building something together?"
This is what he wants to try—for this mission, he decided to leave his role to be freer to go there and find points of contact with people, do things together with others in the name of the Gospel, in the name of humanity's good, without feeling obligated to advance the institution's cause.
Regarding the parody interview Kayn made, Alberto doesn't remember it well from years ago, but acknowledges:
"What you say is true. I was a traditional priest who said things in a new way. I polished the silverware, but it was still the same. I did a rebranding of the same proposal as always."
Now he realizes the world has changed, the target has changed, needs have changed—so we must also try to change, not necessarily the product, but at least interpret it better, evolve the type of product we want to bring.
As for the cliffhanger in the book about returning home at 7 AM with someone else's perfume still on him, Alberto smiles and leaves it to imagination—like some directors do at the end of films.
The conversation ends with Alberto promising to read Kayn's book Padre Kayn versus Don Ambrogio and share his thoughts, even privately. It's been a truly interesting chat between two people on opposite sides of faith—one who left the priesthood to pursue a more authentic relationship with the divine, and one who left faith entirely—yet finding remarkable common ground in their respect for critical thinking, intellectual honesty, and human dignity.
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